


A Linguistics Lesson

by IrLaimsaAraLath



Series: Pride Goeth [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Fade Sex, NSFW, Sex, Smut, Teacher-Student Relationship, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-20
Updated: 2017-08-20
Packaged: 2018-12-17 23:07:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11861535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IrLaimsaAraLath/pseuds/IrLaimsaAraLath
Summary: Niyera Lavellan and Solas spend some time in the Fade reading Elvhen poetry.  Things happen, as things do.





	A Linguistics Lesson

**Author's Note:**

> Shameless smut. Enjoy.

Before Niyera had left her clan, she had been studying under her Keeper's guidance the precious few texts he'd had in ancient Elvhen.  Supplementing her tutelage with the unwritten knowledge his Keeper before him had passed down, he'd told her that she knew nearly all he had to teach.  She had mistakenly believed that meant there was little else for her to learn.  Perhaps that would have been true had she never left the forests, never visited the Conclave, never met Solas.

 

Things were different now.  Solas was able to provide her with texts and knowledge beyond that her Keeper had possessed, and additionally, he was was able to take her to places in the Fade that the waking world had destroyed and forgotten.  These places were bastions of lost history and lore, monuments to the tremendous losses the Elves had suffered.

 

The scratchy rap of a finger on the pages of the tome laid open before her drew her attention back to the present.  She mumbled an apology as she passed Solas a sheepish glance, eventually turning her eyes back to the text.  She was stretched out on her stomach atop a silken carpet, propped on a mound of satin pillows, and he lay beside her, on his side, propped on one elbow and his fingers laced and draped over his hip.  

 

Around them, the white stone columns of an open-air atrium rose to an arching ceiling set with panels of elaborate mosaics in stained glass.  The sunlight passing through painted pools of vibrant jewel-toned color on the floor, and an ambient haze of unadulterated golden light filtered in from between the columns.  This was one of her favorite spots to visit when they walked the Fade together.

 

"Have you had enough for the day?"  He asked as he leaned slightly over her to retrieve the goblet she held, draining its last drop of honeyed wine.  "Oh, no," she quickly answered as she shifted her weight from one elbow to the other.  "I was remembering how few texts we had...my clan," and a flick of her finger turned the tome to the next page.  This particular volume was poetry, and some of the more figurative expressions were troublesome.  Linguistics could be difficult when trying to decipher abstract meaning.

 

"I see.  It is understandable," his voice was even as he spoke and filled their shared goblet before taking it in hand, motioning absently as he continued.  "Volumes in any worthy condition are seldom to be had.  It is fortunate, however, that the spirits of some places have preserved in the Fade what we lack outside of it."  He took another deep draught of the wine before placing the glass back into Niyera's awaiting hand.  She murmured a quiet  _ Mmhm _ as she took a sip herself before sitting it aside.  

 

They found the day here comfortably warm, kept pleasant by the occasional perfumed breeze that wound through the columns of the atrium.  The sweet, though heady scent of jasmine was always a constant, as if the sun's warm memory lifted it from the flowers like incense.  She'd chosen a knee-length lavender dress of layered silk for their outing and he a simple pair of trousers and a textured sleeveless shirt.   

 

She drew a slender fingertip along a carefully inked line of script on the page, reading silently for a moment before tapping at a particular word.  "Here...I have to be misinterpreting this," she said, shifting onto her side and reclining against him as she raised the tome for him to see.  " _ Dahn’direlan _ ," she intoned with a hint of amusement in her voice and a grin curling her lips as she tilted her eyes up at him.  

 

He'd stolen her wine again and took a long sip before nodding, "That is what it says," returning the goblet to the floor.  The line of her brow drew low as she returned her gaze to the book, tentatively offering, "One who...punches bees?"  He draped a hand across her thigh, propping his head in the other as he said, "Correct."  She could not stifle her laughter as she let the tome rest against her chest and passed an incredulous eye to Solas.  "No...really?"

 

The corners of his mouth twitched upward as he simply hummed a long  _ Mmmhmm _ , meeting her eyes with a bemused expression as his fingers played in the hem of her skirt.  Another trickle of laughter fell from her lips as she rested her head against his chest and looked again to the script-lined pages.  "Well, it  **cannot** be literal.  That would make no sense at all."

 

"No," he began, his tone even as he languidly brushed his fingertips along the length of her thigh, "it is not literal."  The gauzy layers of her skirt scrunched beneath the drag of his fingers, and his touch on her skin sparked a current in the nerves just beneath.  She shifted slightly as she mulled the phrase over in her head, quietly mouthing the word itself.  She'd prefer not to have to ask him to explain; she'd rather figure it out.

 

A low hum filled the gilded air, a quiet chorus directed by Nature of insects hiding in the grasses just outside the atrium.  That was the only sound that filled the moments as she turned the word over and over.  "Why would you...bees sting," she whispered to herself, trying to follow the line of logic behind the expression.  All the while, Solas's hand inched ever upward until the side of her skirt was bunched against his wrist and his palm rested on the bare curve of her hip.  She drew a deep breath, reprimanding him softly, "You're not helping, Solas."

 

With only the vague imitation of remorse in his voice, he offered, "Oh?  I am sorry, vhenan.  I did not realize."  His fingers trailed away from her hip, leaving her skirt to fall where it may as his hand settled on her waist.  "Please continue," he said, putting on his best stoic face when she shot a pursed-lip look his way.  She could see that the blush of the wine had given rise to a pale streak across the bridge of his nose and cheeks, causing the dusting of freckles there to darken. 

 

"Sting...stinger...who is stung," she continued, her words a stream of conscious exercise as she scanned the following lines of the poem, hoping that some manner of context would point her in the right direction.  Solas's hand fell from her waist as he answered each of her suggestions with a negative, close-mouthed  _ Nuh uh _ .  When she felt the barely perceptible weight of his touch again, it was as his fingers caught on the knot in the lacing along the back of her dress.  She wouldn't have known he'd been successful in untying it had it not been for the sudden looseness in the neckline.  

 

His playful insistence only fueled her determination, and her eyelids fluttered as she attempted to focus despite feeling the tickle of the silk laces on her back as they were pulled free of their eyelets.  "This doesn't make any-," her words trailed off into a deep sigh as Solas's fingers brushed the small of her back, pulling the laces entirely free of her dress.  A churning warmth grew in her belly, tickling and causing her breath to catch in her throat.  He reached over her shoulder to drop the silk cording into the valley of her book, where the pages splayed from the binding.

 

"Are you ready for me to tell you yet?"  The question was uttered as his face hovered over her shoulder, and he shifted his weight to snake the hand of his supporting arm through the triangle void created by her head resting propped in her hand.  "No," Niyera answered petulantly, pointing her toes as she flexed the muscles in her legs in a fitful attempt to distract herself from his touch.  The scent of honeyed wine on his breath was so rich it was almost like tasting him. 

 

His fingertips danced over the skin of her collarbone, his thumb casually stroking the hollow of her throat as his arm crossed her body.  "Very well," he said with nonchalance as he drew her tightly against his chest and dropped his free hand, deftly navigating the bunched layers of her skirt.  He was certain to have felt the tremor that crawled through her from head to toe, and she knew her suspicions were correct when she heard the velvet rumble of a chuckle in his throat.  

 

A touch that had previously been light firmly grasped her hip, fingers flexing before he smoothed his palm over the curve of her buttock.  Her eyes fell closed, she felt the warmth in her belly sink lower, and it was all she could do to keep the tone of her voice even.  "...bees...punching bees..." A rough squeeze from his hand choked her words, and she fought the compulsion to arch into his hand, but failed, her grip on the tome faltering.  

 

"Do not dare drop that book, Niyera," his voice was low, smooth, like silk against her ear.  The fingers of the hand supporting her head curled into her hair, and she gripped the locks reflexively, steadying her hold on the tome as well.  "I won't...I won't," the repetition was whispered as she stretched the arch of her back, as if trying to escape his grasping hand.  He relinquished his hold on her backside even as he tightened the arm wrapped beneath her.  Willowy digits easily snaked beneath the loosened neckline of her dress and traced the valley between her breasts before cupping one soft mound from beneath.  "Good," came his voice against her ear as he rolled the bud of her nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

 

The breathy whimper that fell from her lips came only seconds before she stirred, grinding back against the press of his pelvis even as she clutched at his hand, forcefully tightening his grip on her breast.  Between them, she felt his hand working the laces of his trousers, and when he was finished, she could feel the true measure of the enjoyment he found in this game of his.  His length was firm and hot against her skin, and it turned the warmth between her legs into a dull, pulsing ache.  "This is...Solas, this is...absurd," each word held a tone that was somewhere between utter frustration and an emphatic plea.

 

"Continue," he commanded as he flexed his grip on her breast, massaging under the urging of her own hand.  The neckline of her dress dipped loosely, the shoulders slipping to tug on her arms as it was caught beneath their hands.  "Creators...I...you," she bit down on the word as she caught her bottom lip between her teeth, and the hand that held the tome was growing heavy and clumsy.  She felt the tip of his nose draw aimless patterns on the skin covering her shoulder blade, every tickling caress soon followed by the soothing press of his lips. 

 

Swallowing hard, she drew a ragged breath before continuing.  "Such a thing...you...you'd have...to be an idiot..."  As the word slid off her tongue, his teeth found purchase on her shoulder, and she cried out.  As he waited for the last of the sound to fade, he scraped his teeth lightly over her skin, and his tongue flicked out to taste her.  Like warm, salted vanilla caramel, and he nibbled at her skin as if she were just such a delicacy.   "Exactly," he said, his breath hot on her neck.  "You can let go now," and the words had no sooner died on his lips than the book fell from her grasp to thud on the floor.  

 

Her newly freed hand fell over her hip and between them, allowing her to take him in hand.  His was the breath that caught now, and he smothered the rumble of his desire against her shoulder.  Gentility was not in the nature of her touch when she worked her fingers about his girth, pressing the scalding heat of his head against the smooth plain of her palm. The sound that grew in her throat may have begun as a growl, but it passed her lips as a graveled purr:  " **You** are  _ infuriating _ ."  

 

When his hand brushed against the back of her legs, a single finger traced the crevice between, and she was accommodating.  His hand slipped through to grip her inner thigh, and the slightest pressure lifted her leg until the ball of her foot rested on the inside of her knee. He chuckled and offered, "Ir abelas, ma vhenan," as he stroked his way to the cleft between her legs.  He found her warmth, wet and ready for him, and dipped a pair of fingers inside.  The moan that escaped her deepened the pitch of her voice, and she bucked against his welcome invasion.  "No, you're not," is all she could manage to say as her hips rolled into his hand, and she gave him a needful tug.

 

As his hand worked the fingers within her and she squirmed in his grasp, his mouth descended to her shoulder again.  A trail of kisses interspersed with nips of teeth that led him to her neck, where he lingered, savoring the salty sheen of sweat that her skin offered before capturing her earlobe in his lips and suckling none-too-gently.  Every other breath she took left her as a moan, the culmination of which was an agonized plea for intercession.  " _ Isalan ma gara suin em, Solas _ ," she forced through the rapid pace of her breathing and over the mounting pressure building within her.  She felt his pulse beneath her hand and set him free, tangling instead in his shirt as she twisted her fingers into the fabric.

 

With his game threatening to get the better of even him, he withdrew his fingers from her, lingering only a moment to stoke the pearl of her hood before he hooked his arm beneath her knee, and pressed himself into the warmth between her thighs.  The sound that escaped her throat was primal, the median between pleasure and pain, as he inched himself with each thrust deeper inside her.  Her body bowed away from him as she pressed her head back into his shoulder, and his grip on her tightened as he hitched her leg higher.  His hips swiveled in a slow, intentional circuit that drew him from her then brought him back again with a maddeningly rhythmic friction.  Her hand was a clutched fist in his shirt as her voice pierced her lips with throaty moans that seemed echoes of his own. 

 

Before he'd found the full measure of himself sheathed inside her, he felt her begin to spasm around him.  Using the momentum of their rhythm, he rolled onto his back, pulling her with him.  The maneuver left her on her knees astride him and allowed her weight to settle her fully on him.  Her cries reached a crescendo as he plunged inside her to the hilt, his hip lifting from the silken carpet beneath them as he sought her deepest recesses.  In one strong hand, he captured her wrists behind her as the other gripped her shoulder, pulling her down even as he bucked his hips against her.

 

The walls of her crumbling resolve were quickly being ground to dust by the ceaseless roiling of him between her legs.  When his hand slipped from her shoulder to press into the arch of her back, forcing her bend even further toward him, her eyes fluttered closed and she lost all ability to utter even a single sound.  At her back, her fingers splayed, searching, grasping vainly for an anchor that would keep her rooted to the world. She found nothing and felt nothing outside of his steadying strength and the relentless pace that was both the source of her descent and her salvation from it. 

 

Just when it seemed she had hit the apex of her climax, her hands clenched into fists as she threw her head back, and he felt her grow tighter still around him.  She found her voice, and the sounds that left them both filled his ears.  In that moment, there was nothing else in the world or beyond the Veil.  

 

She met his every thrust with a grinding roll of her hips that caused his eyes roll back and his pull on her arms to tighten.  As her back arched, his hand drifted from her back to her hip, his fingertips digging in as he growled deep and low in his throat.  With all the force of a tidal wave, heat surged through him, and he lost himself in her.  She tumbled over the precipice with him, her body clamping down on his width.  Her name was torn from his lips, and they rocked in time with each other until neither had anything else to give.

 

Both breathless and glazed in a sheen of sweat, he only grudgingly released his hold on her wrists, and she crumpled into his arms, but not before her lips branded a kiss on his mouth.  The embrace was long and deep, both scorching and sweet.  When she pulled back, he threaded his fingers into her snowy hair, sweeping the damp locks from her face so that he could meet her viridian gaze with an unfettered view.  Still breathing hard, she smiled down at him, and for the first time, in a very long time, no other place and no other time held any allure for him.  She was here.  She was now.  And, that was enough.

 

* * *

 

Varric pushed open the door to Solas's chamber with the creak of wood and the heavy clank of iron on stone and strode casually in.  He found the elf and the Inquisitor lying together, soundly asleep, a tangle of arms and legs draped from the edges of the settee.

 

"Why are they  _ always _ sleeping?"  Varric wondered aloud, and from a perch on the scaffolding above him came Cole's voice.

 

"A party in the Fade," he offered thoughtfully, pausing, then adding, "They...wanted to dance like wolves..."

 

With a quirk of his brow, Varric turned his appraising gaze from the sleeping couple to the figure above him.  "C'mon, kid.  We need to go.  I got a bunny you need to see."

 

The sound of Cole's heavy boots preceded the *whoosh* of his translocating to Varric's side.  

 

"I like bunnies," Cole said eagerly.  

 

"I know, kid.  I know," was Varric's only response as the pair disappeared through the doorway.


End file.
